Going Down
by Zaphodette Beeblebrox
Summary: After seven years at Hogwarts, Hermione decides there are better ways to fight the dark - rated for future chapters
1. Everybody Going Down

_Escalator going down, going down, going down…._

_Elevator going down, going down, going down…._

_Everybody going down, going down, going down…._

_Forgive me if I don't cry,_

_It's like the Fourth of July,_

_Thank god that angels can fly,_

_Down, down, down, going down, down, down,_

_Going down._

_Excerpt from 'Going Down' HAIR Broadway musical soundtrack _

**Hogwarts, Graduation Day**

Harry Potter, Ronald Weasley, and Hermione Granger stood in the office of one Headmaster Dumbledore. This was not the standard meeting with the Headmaster that the three students had become accustomed to over the past seven years. The Headmaster did not sit before them with a semi-stern look upon his face and yet the omni-present twinkle in his eyes, admonishing them in one sentence, and adulating them in the next for multiple rule-breakings, which had once again delayed Voldemort's glorious return to the wizarding world. Nor was this was the weary, aged-looking Headmaster informing them of yet another death that was suffered in the name of this not quite war, not quite peace in the wizarding world. This was a Headmaster with a neutral face, addressing his now former three students offering them a formal title in the battle against Voldemort – a title that older wizards and witches held who had not risked an inkling, not taken a single hex, not spilled a drop of blood, who were blissfully unaware of the presence of Thestrals, and did not wake up in the middle of the night short of breath, covers damp with nasty, unshakeable images in their head.

This was a Headmaster informing Misters Potter and Weasley and Miss Granger that their student titles now disposed of, were official members of the Order of the Phoenix. 

Harry nodded his acquiescence quietly, a young man who now perceptibly wore the burden of the wizarding world upon his shoulders. This had not been the laughing, seemingly carefree 'boy who lived' since Sirius' death. Ron eagerly accepted the honorific, elated that he was finally being recognized as an adult, and as an individual of his own merit, with his own capabilities to offer the Order. Hermione stood silently however, her face schooled into a mask of indifference, a mask she had not previously worn in this school, nor this office, nor before these individuals with her, yet one she had practiced in the stillness of her chambers.

"Miss Granger?" Albus shifted slightly forward in his chair, "You will of course be joining Mister Potter and Mister Weasley in the Order. Your talents will be of some significance I daresay." Hermione gently shifted her gaze to the right, away from Albus and away from her schoolhood friends – as though the slight movement could deflect the Headmaster's words.

"No Headmaster, I will not be joining the Order," Hermione stated flatly. At this proclamation Ron started and reddened slightly, turning his face sharply to questioningly gaze at Hermione. Harry simply gazed towards an imperceptible spot on the floor of Dumbledore's office. 

"Miss Granger, perhaps you misunderstood me," Albus replied, "your actions of the last seven years…" "No Professor Dumbledore," Hermione interrupted, turning away to face the window that her gaze had been drifting closer and closer towards, "my actions of the last seven years were those dictated as a student, as a friend of Harry, and as someone who has been nearly as nearly ruthlessly manipulated by you as Harry himself."

Albus leaned back in his chair and threaded his fingers together and brought them before his chin. "Miss Granger, I confess not to understand where this accusation of manipulation stems from, but I assure you I have always had Mr. Potter's best interests in mind – and yours as well of course."

Hermione wheeled around sharply to face the Headmaster, her gaze darkening ever so slightly. "No Headmaster, I am not making baseless accusations. For the last seven years you have wielded the strings on all three of us, a nudge hear, an oversight there, but manipulation nonetheless. Hogwarts is supposedly the safest place in all of wizarding Britain and yet four times Voldemort has breeched these walls unimpeded. You've allowed Malfoy and the rest of his junior death eater cronies free reign of this school, leaving myself and the rest of the… _mudbloods_ to fend for ourselves. When my parents were murdered you muttered a few words that were meant to comfort and sent me on my way, as though I should have no expectations of justice to be done on their behalf, and no resentments at the murdering bigots that performed this act. You have allowed pureblooded bigotry to run unchecked in this school, just as it runs rampant outside these walls. No, I have my own agenda now, and I assure you it is not part of your _precious_ order, and it is certainly not subjecting myself to your amusements any longer." At this she turned and stalked towards the office door, only to find it stubbornly refusing to open.

"Miss Granger!" Dumbledore rose from his chair, no twinkle visible in his eyes now, "For what has and has not been allowed to transpire in this school has been for reasons you could not know, and certainly not for reasons that I would have to justify to you."

At this statement Hermione spun around, her stony features had finally cracked into a picture of loathing, her eyes narrowing with a look of anger and hatred. She made to step forward and say something, hesitated, and then at such a soft level that all in the room couldn't be sure of what they heard, "Reasons are not excuses."

Hermione then did something that no one in that office could have foreseen, perhaps not even Dumbledore himself. Hermione, the student who had eagerly recited the mantra against such an action from 'Hogwarts A History' over the years to anyone who would willingly, and even unwillingly, listen did the seemingly impossible. She vanished from the Headmaster's office with the tell tale pop of an apparition.


	2. Strange Elations

_Just like the angel that fell,_

_Banished forever to hell…_

_This is my doom, my humiliation,_

_Why should this pain bring me such strange elation?_

_Everybody going down, going down, going down…_

_Everybody going down, going down, going down…_

_Excerpt from 'Going Down' HAIR Broadway musical soundtrack_

Flashback, Seventh Year 

Hermione's seventh year at Hogwarts had begun innocuously enough. The position of Head Girl had been offered to her as expected, but just as unexpectedly she turned it down, stating her desire to focus solely on her NEWTs that year.

Upon the murder of her parents, her overwhelming grief had swiftly turned into a nearly overpowering hatred of a wizarding world that had welcomed her with opened arms only to treat her with varying degrees of almost imperceptible callousness to outright brutality.

She had openly grieved the loss of her parents, but as the grief turned to rage her mind still retained her calculating logic, which then out of necessity turned to a cunning that would have made a Slytherin green with envy. But a Slytherin could not understand how to manipulate that vaunted cunning to the wanted outcome against a Gryffindor without raising a suspicion – for a Slytherin, no matter how cunning, would never wear their heart on their sleeve for others to see.

A brief trip to Professor McGonagall's office, in which her face of mourning was brought out for the Gryffindor response it would trigger, had resulted in her own private room. A sobbing Hermione had informed her Head of House that with no home to retreat to on holidays, and with the personal possessions she had retrieved from the house before it's sale, required a room of her own for privacy and space reasons.

An equally emotional visit to the DADA teacher, with histrionics on her even more intensely burning desire to fight the Dark Arts, had resulted in an unrestricted pass to the Restricted Section of the Library.

As her overwhelming grief was muted by her anger, only the most astute observer could have noted the changes in Hermione. By all outward appearances she returned to the normal studious Gryffindor, who could be found laughing and conversing with her friends at the dining table in the Great Hall. But her equally expected studiousness had mutated from an overwhelming desire to excel in her NEWTs to voraciously devouring any information that might help her exact a measure of revenge on those that thought her an inferior, and worthy of such treatment as inferior, by her birthright.

For a student who could efficiently locate the appropriate tomes in the library, the knowledge that could be acquired was almost limitless. Books that held spells, incantations, and potions that would never appear in the Hogwarts curriculum. Informational books on the manufacturing of wands, which could be used by an exceptionally intelligent student to actually create one - a wand that would be unknown to the Ministry, and untraceable to the witch or wizard who wielded it.

It was also during this time that Hermione reflected on her muggle heritage. Thanks to Ron she was only too aware of how blatantly ignorant pureblooded wizards were of muggle culture, and of muggle weaponry - an ignorance that could work well in her favor.

She also recognized the fact that the majority of wizards (and witches as well, as Professor McGonagall made only too clear in her fifth year) were disdainful of muggle "pugilism", and that physical strength and agility could only be yet another advantage in her favor.

The Room of Requirement became as constant of a haunt to her as the library. In this room she could conjure muggle weight-lifting equipment, sparring dummies, and muggle weapons to practice with.

Once, after having completed her circular walk with heavy contemplation on muggle weaponry, her eyes drifted to a lightweight crossbow with arrows, and a sudden realization of how lethal an arrow imbued with a slicing spell could be. A wizard would immediately dismiss an arrow as harmless to a simple shielding spell, until that arrow pierced the wizard's shield and the wizard himself.

After that day, Hermione could constantly be found in the Room of Requirement wielding a crossbow, honing her targeting skills. That is she could have been found if someone had thought to look.

Purebloods, she thought contemptuously, were truly the inferiors of the wizarding world. It was the muggleborns that were blessed of a double heritage and the purebloods of a half heritage - not the other way around as the Death Eater's and their silent sympathizers deluded themselves.


	3. Run For Cover

_The impression that you sell passes in and out like a scent_

_But the long face that you see comes from living close to your fears_

_If this is up, and I'm up, but your running out of sight_

_You've seen your name on the walls_

_And when one little bump leads to shock miss a beat_

_You run for cover and there's heat_

_Why don't they do what they say, say what they mean_

_One thing leads to another_

_Excerpt from 'One Thing Leads To Another' FIXX_

Hogwarts, Graduation Day 

Back in her private room at Hogwarts for the final time, Hermione gathered her satchel and took one look across the room to verify that nothing was forgotten. She allowed herself an indulgent giggle as she imagined the look on Dumbledore's face when she apparated out of his office. Really, that was one of the best investments she had ever made. A case of butterbeer in exchange for Winky spilling her guts about the secret of apparition inside Hogwarts. This knowledge which allowed the house elves to move about the castle in order to do their work more efficiently was held sacred by the house elves - only they and the Hogwarts headmaster knew the secret. Well, and Hermione now, not that she would be indulging in that particular pastime anymore. She felt she ought to feel a bit of guilt for manipulating Winky in that manner, but Winky was obviously happier with the butterbeer, and Hermione had been happy to maneuver about the castle after hours with no fear of detection by Filch or that dratted cat of his. Besides, Dumbledore was the one that would have to deal with an inebriated house elf. 

Satisfied that the room was empty, she exited and headed for the entrance hall. She was a bit concerned that she would meet up with Dumbledore on the way. Surely by now he had surmised what she had done. And he would know that while apparition within the castle was possible, that one could not apparate outside the castle walls. The house elves that served Hogwarts would have no reason to leave the castle, therefore that particular ability either did not exist or was not known to them. Although Hermione wouldn't have put it past Dobby to know such a thing, he had made it abundantly clear that he would not be assisting her at all in this endeavor, hence Winky and the butterbeer. 

She made her way down the stairs and into the entrance hall. She paused for the last step of her exit from Hogwarts and away from Dumbledore's influence. She pulled her wand out, her old wand she amended, the one that Ollivander had sold her. The one with a unicorn core. Hermione snickered briefly at the memory of making her new wand. The realization when she had tracked down a unicorn in the Forbidden Forest, and realized that the creatures would no longer have anything to do with her, and therefore her new wand could not have a unicorn hair as a core. Her snicker subsided with the memory of the realization that she really had changed so much in the course of a year. Hermione still used her student wand in all of her classes, she never dared use the wand inside Hogwarts. Testing of the new wand was generally done in the Forbidden Forest, or even farther away from the school. The wand with the unicorn core had never felt as powerful after her new wand was created, but her talents allowed her to make do with the simple uses the old wand was applied to in school.

She held an end of the wand with each hand, and began to apply pressure.

"Miss Granger," a silky voice intoned.

Hermione jumped, startled out of her reverie at the sound of her name.

'Oh Bollocks,' she thought. 'Snape.'

"Yes Professor?" she answered in her most practiced schoolgirl voice.

"Miss Granger, I see you are still loitering about the school, even though every other student has departed by now. I know this will be difficult for you Miss Granger, but you are no longer a student at this school. That means that you are no longer welcome here. I know it must be a source of great heartbreak for you to know that you may never lay your eyes upon the school's library again," Snape intoned.

"I appreciate your concern Professor," Hermione replied in a sickly-sweet voice. "I assure you I was just on my way out when you interrupted me."

"Is that so, Miss Granger?" Snape raised one eyebrow with this question, and his eyes narrowed at the now former student in front of him. "It rather appeared to me that you were accosting your wand, though what your wand did to merit such treatment, I confess not to know."

Hermione paled at this statement, then after a short consideration, resumed her previous task. She snapped the wand in half and the two pieces clattered as they were disposed of on the stone floor. Snape's face became unreadable as he watched the two pieces roll in separate directions.

"Good day, Professor Snape," Hermione picked up her satchel and exited out the front door of Hogwarts.

After a minute Professor Snape bent to retrieve the two pieces of the wand. He examined them briefly and snorted. 'Unicorn hair, I should have known.' He then began the trek towards the Headmaster's office. If nothing else breaking this to Albus would provide some entertainment for the afternoon.

Authors Note: In regards to the unicorn, in mythology and folklore, it is considered a symbol of purity, innocence, and chastity. It is with this in mind that the chapter was written.


	4. Corner of the Room

This is the definition of my life  
Lying in bed in the sunlight  
Choking on the vitamin tablet  
The doctor gave in the hope of saving me  
In the hope of saving me  
  
Walked in the corner of the room  
A junk yard fool with eyes of gloom  
I asked him time again  
Take me in and dry the rain  
Take me in and dry the rain  
Take me in and dry the rain  
Take me in and dry the rain  
The rain the rain the rain now

Excerpt from 'Dry the Rain' Beta Band

Present Day 

Hermione strode out of the castle and towards the Forbidden Forest. When far enough away from the castle to be safely ensconced from the view of anyone that might be watching, she placed her satchel on the ground and knelt over it. Hermione removed the new wand from her sack as well as a holster for it. She was exceptionally proud of the holster, which was an invention of her own. It fastened to her left arm and held the wand butt-end out. The holster had a quick catch, and a quick release, which would allow her to arm herself quickly, while also keeping the wand concealed under robes or a loose-fitting long-sleeve shirt when not in use. The biggest drawback of the crossbow was that no matter how she positioned her wand, it was impossible to hold while drawing back a bolt. That necessitated a means allowing her to use her wand, holster it, fire the crossbow, and if needed, quickly arm herself with the wand again. With the holster, she could hold the crossbow with her left hand, draw and fire an arrow with her right hand and, as soon as the arrow was clear, quickly arm herself with the wand in her right hand.

To carry her arrows she had a small quiver that could carry up to ten arrows. The quiver could be worn on her back or at her right side with a small adjustment. Hermione found that wearing it on her back was the best tactically speaking. While it was quicker to retrieve the arrows from her side, if she needed to make a hasty escape on foot the quiver at her side tended to trip her up and could also easily catch on any raised objects on the ground.

Hermione strapped the wand holster to her arm, picked her satchel back up and apparated away.

She reappeared in an alley behind a trash bin. The ability to apparate long distances really was under-appreciated in the wizarding world. Even younger wizards and witches who had to wait until their seventh years to learn the ability rather took it for granted. Perhaps if they spent several hours cramped in an automobile or a small aeroplane they might appreciate it a bit more.

She had located a flat in Lancaster, a thoroughly muggle enclave in northwest England. Hermione chose the area for being so nondescript – a normal town well away from Diagon Alley and Hogwarts. Any meeting of witch or wizard here should be a meeting of total coincidence

Hermione exited the alley and entered a building adjacent. She climbed two flights of stairs and then produced a key to enter her flat. With the sale of her parents' house, she was able to afford a small flat in a decent neighborhood. Even if she opted not to start working right away, there was enough money socked away that she could pay for it and other simple living expenses for at least a couple of years. After that, well after that, she considered who knew? Hopefully Voldemort would be defeated, and the sooner the better really. Why on earth Dumbledore was permitting this to drag on and on she didn't know. Harry had attended Hogwarts for seven years, if Dumbledore didn't think Harry was ready to face the dark lord yet, well it was the old man's fault. Really, he could have hired a muggle to teach DADA and that muggle would have likely done a better job than some of the winners selected for the position. What was he thinking? Maybe Alzheimer's existed in the wizarding world as well….

The flat was mercifully free of a fireplace, which eliminated any worries about someone attempting to floo a head or body in. Dumbledore may be familiar with muggle gadgetry, but even Hermione doubted that he could utilize a stove or microwave for flooing purposes. Though it could be entertaining to watch Dumbledore's head rotate around on the turntable in the microwave.

Hermione unloaded the few possessions out of her satchel, and out of habit walked over to the bookshelves to select a book for perusal. She slumped down on her couch and began reading half-heartedly.

Authors Note: I'm not entirely happy with this chapter, but I wanted to move on and get to the good stuff, so if you braved your way through this entire page, thanks for reading.


	5. The Wonder At Your Feet

_Tell all the people that you see _

_Follow me _

_Follow me down _

_Tell all the people that you see _

_Set them free _

_Follow me down _

_You tell them they don't have to run _

_We're gonna pick up everyone _

_Come out and take me by my hand _

_Gonna bury all our troubles in the sand, oh yeah _

_Can't you see the wonder at your feet _

_Your life's complete _

_Follow me down _

_Excerpt from 'Follow Me Down' The Doors_

Knockturn Alley, Night 

The night air carries a scent so different from that of its counterpart. The air smells crisp, clean, and sharp with just a hint of the corruption of the day – as though night rose in a wayward attempt to wipe away the sins of the day and give its compatriot the opportunity to start anew.

The night air in Knockturn Alley was tinted, as is everything in that narrow, infested alley. One might say that the tint itself smelled of evil, as if one could quantify the scent of evil. The scent lies there just under the surface as though it could hide itself under the aroma of the smoke of fires, the pungent scents of potion ingredients, the sweat of humans. It is the smell of a hundred horrible things, of rotted flesh, of acrid, infested standing water. In Knockturn Alley daylight never crept in, always overlooking the locale that night appeared not to have visited and purified. So night languished there always, failing to cleanse the area or its denizens.

A black-robed figure leaned against the wall of an apothecary calmly inhaling that tinted air. If what was exhaled was of any purer composition, it cannot be said. Closer examination of this figure would reveal black leather gloves on the hands and some kind of black material covering most of the face making identification impossible. But for the lack of a silver mask, this individual could easily be mistaken as one of Voldemort's uniformed Death Eater's. Up in Diagon Alley, this figure would have easily attracted the attention of authorities, but down here such garb was fairly commonplace.

In a different setting, the individual might have been tempted to venture into the apothecary and peruse the various illicit potion mixtures and ingredients, but there was other business to be tended to this night. The robed figure had stood motionless in this spot for over an hour now, and seemed to have no intention of yet straying from this site. Witches and wizards of all shapes, sizes and costume streamed back and forth, the majority with their heads bowed slightly down or straight ahead. Indiscriminate eye contact was by accident only, and certainly not welcomed here. This was an area for tasks to be completed, not for socializing.

The robed figure started, standing erect, and retreating both hands back to be engulfed by the folds of the robe. A younger man ambling down the alley had drawn some attention. The teenaged man was dressed in green and black robes that covered a large frame. A precursory glance at his face would tell most that this was not an individual of higher, or even standard, intellect.

As he passed the apothecary, the figure fell into step behind him. A barely visible protrusion of wood crept out of the robe, a couple of whispered words, and the large man fell face forward. The dark figure bent over the young man, gloved hand reaching out to touch his shoulder, and both vanished. 

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_

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_I wanted to thank everyone that has left feedback._

_Cianna – has the revenge started? Could be.._

_Pixie – you'll have to wait just a bit longer for Dumbledore's reaction_

_Colleen – I'm glad you like the portrayal – I just can't see Hermione taking things sitting down, or calmly.._

_Natale and AK – I'll try to be a bit more prompt about posting new chapters, for some reason my brain tends to write in spurts despite my best intentions.._


	6. Can't You See Me Growing

_Tell all the people that you see _

_Follow me _

_Follow me down _

_Tell all the people that you see _

_Set them free _

_Follow me down_

_Follow me across the sea_

_Where milky babies seem to be_

_Molded, flowing revelry_

_With the one that set them free_

_Can't you see me growing, get your guns _

_The time has come _

_To follow me down_

_Excerpt from 'Follow Me Down' The Doors_

Hogwarts, morning 

Albus Dumbledore, the Headmaster of Hogwarts and self-appointed leader of the Order of the Phoenix, was in his private quarters preparing for the coming day. A glance out the window reveals a beautiful, sunny day in the making. There is not a cloud in the sky, and it looks to be one of those perfect summer days.

Suddenly, he is interrupted by a frantic knock at the door. A slight gesture with his hand, and the door is opened to reveal a frantic looking gameskeeper in the in the doorway.

"Headmaster, sorry to interrupt ya," Hagrid rushed out, "but I've got something important to tell ya…"

"What is it Hagrid?" replied Dumbledore.

"I was makin' my rounds with Fang, and I… well Fang really… that is we found a dead body near the forest. He's in a bad way. I think he migh' be a student and all, he looks familiar like, a Slytherin I think."

A brief look of surprise crosses Dumbledore's face before slipping away into his calm, schooled look. "Very well Hagrid. I'll need you to take me to the location where this individual lies. And if you would, please floo Severus and ask him to join us on the grounds."

Hagrid tentatively leads the Headmaster towards a clearing near the forest. Dumbledore can already see a still figure laying on the ground in respite. As they grow closer, Dumbledore notes that this individual did not experience a peaceful death. The boy's shirt is torn open and an arrow protrudes from the chest. Hagrid stops a respectful distance away from the body, his head bowed slightly. When the headmaster finally stops at the feet of this young man he first notices the slight scent of burnt flesh in the air. The figure of the Dark Mark has been scorched upon the chest. The arrow struck upon the right forehead side of the skull in this crude rendering – but he cannot say which was there first – the arrow or the mark. For an arrow having pierced the chest, there seems to be a remarkable lack of blood on the body. The eyes stare forward sightlessly, and Dumbledore cannot help but wonder what was the last thing these eyes viewed. It is obvious that a combination of physical and magical means were used to strike this young man down. Dumbledore's reverie is interrupted by the sound of quickly approaching footsteps.

"Severus, thank you for coming so quickly. I am sorry we can not meet under better circumstances…"

"Yes, yes Headmaster. Do you think we could perchance skip the pleasantries? If I followed Hagrid's babbling correctly, one of my Slytherins has been found murdered? Is that correct?" Snape replies impatiently, then glances around Dumbledore.

 "Gregory Goyle. He graduated this past year," announces Snape in a matter of fact tone of voice.

"Do you think this was an act by or on the orders of Voldemort? I'm not mistaken that Mr. Goyle was one of the students to join Tom?" the Headmaster asks gently.

"That's correct Headmaster. Goyle took the Dark Mark over the spring break. As to the reason for his death, given the amount of physical damage to the body, the Dark Lord's involvement would seem questionable. He rarely lifts a finger to take action upon someone, usually appointing one his followers for that… honor. The Death Eaters as a whole generally spurn physical violence for a simple unforgivable. The only exception to that is Lucius Malfoy who tends to be more… hands on. But Lucius would never use a muggle weapon such as a bow and arrow. He prefers a dagger for his physical endeavors." Snape pauses for a moment appearing deep in thought. "While it is not unheard of for the Dark Lord to order the murder of his own followers, I do not believe that he would leave his dirty laundry in the backyard of his greatest adversary."

"If not Tom Riddle, then who Severus? Could we truly have another adversary out there as willing to commit such evils?"

"I don't know headmaster," Snape replies. He crosses his arms and bows his head down to rest his forehead upon his thumb and forefinger. "I would like to think not, but this simply doesn't fit. If Mr. Goyle were murdered for upsetting the Dark Lord, Goyle would have been made a clear example of. There would be no doubt of whom the murder had been performed for."

"It's obvious that this is meant to be a message. But from whom, or for what purpose, I cannot say. Thank you Severus. You may return to your quarters. The ministry should be arriving any minute. No doubt, they will want to run their own investigation. I suppose I will be out here for a while with the ministry representatives."

Snape turned away to make the trek back to the castle. He held a slight suspicion as to who might be involved with the graphic murder of the young death eater. But he would hold his tongue for now. It was simply a feeling; he needed solid proof before he dared make an accusation towards the individual he now suspected.

Dumbledore took one last sad glance at the body of the former student. He emitted a small sigh before turning towards the gate to await the arrival of the ministry.

A perfect day indeed.


End file.
